by Denis Hughes
But Professor Dale himself saved his own life. With a supreme effort of will he rose to his feet just as Bentick was about to fire. Throwing a hand across his eyes to fend off the image on the screen the scientist turned and reached for the main switches, cutting the screen into jagged streaks of light that danced along harmlessly.
Bentick suddenly found himself on the point of killing a fellow being for no other reason than that something had urged him to do it. He was shaking and sweating as he leant against the gallery coping, the gun drooping now in his hand. He felt limp and weak, as if all the strength had been sapped from his being by some terrible force that nothing could fight against.
Curiously, he looked down at Dale, the man who a few moments before he had been about to kill.
The Professor was leaning against the Telecopter with one hand thrown across his forehead. Then he shook himself and turned his head, staring round in the glimmer of a small pilot light that shone from on top of the Telecopter.
Bentick drew back among the shadows that covered him. He had no real fear that Dale would see him, but wanted to make quite sure.
The scientist, fully recovered now from the effects of that distant murder scene, was once more absorbed with the controls of the Telecopter.
Bentick wondered what other devilry would be portrayed before his eyes, but he, too, was once again in control of his feelings and emotions. He could analyse now what had happened, and was worried by thoughts of Carol. Had she been there in the laboratory when Dale revealed the murder from the past the professor would probably have killed her in the fit of frenzy brought on by the invisible but powerful emanations that came with the image. Bentick himself might have killed her. So great had been the urge to kill that it would not have mattered who fell victim to it.
He shivered at the notion, but once again his whole attention was drawn to the shimmering screen of the Telecopter.
The Professor had flicked back from the Past to the Present, and even as Bentick stared at the screen the image changed again to some moment in the near future.
This time Bentick saw himself as an image. At first he could not quite make out the emotions that assailed him as he watched. The screen was dim and details hard to distinguish, but he was fully conscious of a growing excitement that came from the machine and entered his mind. It was the kind of excitement that men might feel who have just either witnessed some dramatic act, or are about to take part in it themselves.
And as Bentick analysed that far he saw that the image on the screen held a gun in its hand. There was a thin wisp of bluish smoke curling up from the black-edged muzzle.
He fought for control over himself as he stared at what was an event in which he himself would take part before long. It puzzled him and worried him, for he could not decide what that smoking gun might stand for. And the look on the face of the image was too shadowed to tell what emotion that figure was experiencing. Nor were his own as helpful as they might be.
Before he could arrive at any definite conclusion Dale was moving on through Time, remorselessly, pausing every now and then on the eerie journey through the image world to watch some tiny fragment of action that he gave Bentick no time to follow closely. Then the screen steadied and the picture was plain. Bentick craned his neck as he leant over the gallery coping. He was no longer in the grip of fear or evil or any clear emotion, but was merely a spectator of things he barely understood. But he was suddenly alive again when he saw Carol’s picture before him. Then he experienced a certain intangible sadness as he watched her. Not for a moment or two did he realise that her image was crying. There were tears on her face and her hand was unsteady as it went up to cover her eyes from something not shown on the screen.
Bentick felt a great tenderness flow towards her from himself. At the same time the back of his own figure came into view on the screen as he walked up to her.
Instinctively he himself stretched out a hand, but his image put an arm round the girl’s shoulders in a protective manner.
As if such comfort was too much for her to bear she collapsed against him, her face buried on his arm.
Bentick watched himself lift her up in his arms and carry her up the steps without effort. At the top the two of them disappeared out of range of the Telecopter’s eye.
Bentick watched himself and Carol go from the screen. He would have gone on staring at its blankness for a long time had not Dale switched the machine into deadness.
Bentick felt relaxation sweep over him. He suddenly discovered that his legs were watery and that he was leaning full weight on the gallery coping for support. The strain imposed by those emanations he had experienced was greater than he would have imagined. He saw Professor Dale pass a hand across his face and turn away from the Telecopter.
Bentick wondered whether he would be able to slip out unseen, or whether he would have to wait until Dale had finally finished and left the place himself. If that happened he, Bentick, might find himself locked in the laboratory for the remainder of the night. It was not a prospect he relished, for Nargan must still be watched, and if he was missing again when the foreigner wanted him in the morning there would be the very devil to pay.
It was Dale who solved the problem for him, however.
The scientist never looked at the gallery once during the time that Bentick was up there, but suddenly he spoke, quite quietly and steadily:
“I should come down from there if I were you, Bentick,” he said. “I’ve known you were here all the time, but you needn’t think I resent the intrusion. You’re always welcome, my friend! Come on down! We must talk!”
CHAPTER 9
PROBLEMS OF A SECRET AGENT
Bentick pulled himself together with a start. He looked down into the laboratory in amazement, wondering how in the world Dale had known he was there.
Dale said: “I saw you come in, young man! I have sharper eyesight than you think perhaps, but don’t let it bother you. Come on down, I say! This is a friendly meeting.”
Bentick gave a grin as he left the gallery coping and started for the steps again, working back round the gallery as he went. His eyes were drawn first to the Telecopter where it stood in the middle of the floor, a strangely potent machine. He was afraid of what it could do to a man, yet there had been times when it had produced sensations that were far from being evil ones. Then his eyes strayed up to the vaulted roof of the ancient crypt that housed the Professor’s secrets. It was a queer thought to realise that these hewn stones that formed the roof must have been there for centuries, looking down on the events, grim and gay, that he himself had seen on the screen of the Telecopter. He thought about the murder he had witnessed, and the conspiracy between those people from another period. There was something awesome in the whole train of happenings and what it might lead to.
He moved down the broad stone steps with a cautious action, hardly trusting Professor Dale to accept his presence there in the mild kind of fashion he had mentioned. That a man like Dale could happily work away and demonstrate the innermost secrets of his latest invention to an unseen watcher without showing resentment surprised him more than he cared to admit, yet Dale had shown nothing in the way of anger when he had called him down.
“Sorry if I intruded, Professor,” said Bentick with a one-sided smile as he arrived at the foot of the steps. He kept one hand in his pocket, grasping his gun in case of accidents. The Professor was more than a little mad, he reflected. He might not be dangerous, but there was always a chance. And Bentick did not like taking chances unless he was fully prepared.
As if reading his thoughts the Professor smiled. His eyes were raking Bentick from head to toe, studying the agent in a curiously analytical manner that made the young man feel something like a rare insect on the inspection table or beneath the microscope of science.
Dale gave a brief shrug of his shoulders and indicated the work bench. In front of it were two high stools like those in a cocktail bar. They were dirty and their leather seats were stained b
y fallen chemicals.
“Sit down, Bentick,” Dale commanded sharply. “I want to talk to you.” He paused and laughed harshly. “At least I can make some use of you now that you have broken all the rules of hospitality by spying on me at night!”
Bentick kept quiet because he thought that was the best thing to do. When Dale was good and ready he would make himself clear, but until he did it was wise to leave him to make the running.
He sat himself uncomfortably on the nearer of the two cocktail stools, still with his gun in his hand and his eyes on the Professor’s face for signs of open danger. There was hidden danger in plenty in this place, he reflected, but that was something he could not fight till it showed itself plainly. Dale and his madness was another matter.
“Now then,” said Dale more quietly. “I will tell you things that perhaps no other living man will ever hear. You have seen, because I wanted you to, things on the screen of the Telecopter that have stirred you profoundly. Carol, too, has seen strange events. I have not seen her since she underwent the experience, and I can only assume that she has hidden herself away because she is afraid. She was certainly a prey to fear of the worst possible kind when she left the laboratory for the last time some hours ago.”
Dale stopped and approached Bentick closely before going on with what he was saying. When he did finally speak again there was a wild light in his eyes that warned the agent to watch his step.
“And as well as you and Carol someone else has seen things that are hidden from the rest of the world!” said Dale. “I refer, of course, to Nargan, that arch enemy of all humanity and Britain in particular.”
Bentick shook his head slowly. “Be careful, Professor, or you’ll be saying things that you can’t possibly mean,” he said. “Nargan may be an unpleasant person, but it is only in the interests of this country that he is here at this moment. If it were not so our government would not have arranged this meeting in your house.”
The Professor made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “You are mad to think like that!” he snapped irritably. “I tell you Nargan is the greatest traitor that anyone could ask to their aid. As for doing business with the man on any terms other than your own it would be sheer folly! I know what I am saying, you understand?”
“I’m sure you do,” said Bentick in an attempt to soothe the scientist, “but this is not in my hands. Even if Nargan was as bad as you say I should be powerless to prevent this meeting going through. The moment our representative arrives in the morning it will be out of my hands entirely. The facts of that meeting were never my duty to watch. All I have to do is see that he is safe. I met him on arrival, and presently I shall see him leave. What happens between those two events is nothing to do with me so long as it does not affect my immediate duty.” He broke off, watching Dale with a fixed stare that might have troubled a lesser man. Then: “But I warn you, Professor, that I shall see my duty through no matter what trickery I come up against. Be careful. You would be most unwise to attempt to alter the plans that have been so carefully laid by those in power.”
Dale grimaced sullenly. For an instant he looked like a spoilt child.
“Those in power, as you call them, are fools!” he snapped. “I could alter history if I wanted to! Perhaps I shall. Nargan should die! If I could do it myself I should be quite prepared to take the consequences, but I do not think I am destined to be the hand that strikes. Nargan will die all right! He will die down here in all probability. I have already warned him of his doom. He is frightened!”
Bentick looked at the Professor very hard. The man was a dangerous kind of fanatic, he decided.
“Just exactly how much of the future do you know?” asked Bentick quietly. “Have you seen Nargan die? If you don’t tell me what you know, Dale, I shall have you arrested at once and kept out of trouble till this meeting is over.”
The Professor burst out laughing. Its echoes were loud in the vaulted laboratory, as if the Past and the Future were joining in his bitter mirth.
“Now you threaten me!” he jeered. “My dear young friend, it is nothing to do with me what happens to Nargan, Whatever his fate is will be something beyond the control of any of us.”
Bentick stared at him shrewdly. Was this man playing with him, he wondered? How much could be believed from what he was saying? Bentick could not trust his own judgment because he found himself up against things he could hardly understand.
“Just how much do you know?” he demanded.
Professor Dale only smiled. Then: “You mean do I know if Nargan will die?” he countered. “That I cannot tell you for certain. Whatever events lead up to the scenes you have witnessed on the Telecopter screen are fore¬shadowed to happen beyond the range of the machine itself. You have seen the girl’s image. You have seen your own, holding a gun that had just been fired. Someone will die down here, Bentick. I hope it will be Nargan, but I cannot swear that it will be. For all I know you yourself may kill the traitorous man. There is violence in the future. Always remember that fact!”
Bentick grunted. He felt himself all at sea with Dale. The man was unpredictable. One never knew what he would say or do next.
“I see,” said Bentick gravely. “So it’s that way, is it? You’re playing with dangerous things, Professor. I’d be happier if you laid off the Telecopter till after Nargan has gone. I’ve a dreadfully solid sort of hunch that Nargan and the Telecopter are going to be linked in some tragedy.” He shrugged. “If it wasn’t for the fact of my own position here I wouldn’t care a hang what became of Nargan, but circumstances compel me to guard his safety with my own life if necessary. Can I rely on you not to jeopardise the situation?”
Professor Dale smiled in a peculiar manner that gave Bentick more trouble than he liked to think about.
“You can rely on me to stand and watch future events shape themselves,” he said quietly. “They are beyond our control. What is reflected by the cosmic radiations will happen. That is all you can rely on, Bentick. Now I suggest you return to the upper part of the house and get some sleep.” He paused. “Your reserves may well be called on tomorrow.”
Bentick slid off the leather seated cocktail stool and hesitated. He would have liked to have said a great deal more to Dale, but something stopped him doing it. In the end he gave a helpless sort of shrug and turned away.
Halfway up the steps to the gallery he paused and looked back at Dale.
The Professor was standing with his feet apart, his back resting against the Telecopter housing and his eyes fixed on Bentick. As Bentick looked down at him he lifted an arm and waved it slightly. Then he dropped it again, wearily. It hung limp. Bentick wondered when Dale had slept last.
Without another word he continued his way up the steps and made for the kitchen. His mind was troubled, yet he had so little that was tangible at which to grasp. In a dazed fashion he went upstairs, listened at Nargan’s door and heard the foreigner’s heavy snoring. There was no sound from Carol’s room.
Bentick drew a chair into the corridor and set it outside Nargan’s door. He settled himself down and lit a cigarette, wondering if he would be able to stay awake till the morning. Somehow or other he could not trust himself to sleep again. There were too many shadows of doom around for that. Nargan must be protected, not from outside enemies, but from himself and from Dale. And Bentick had a worrying notion that Dale might be the more dangerous of the two alternatives.
It was almost daybreak.
CHAPTER 10
JAGGED NERVES
Professor Dale remained in the vaulted laboratory for some time after Bentick had left him. His mind was a sea of various thoughts and ideas, but the one central theme was Nargan and what best to do about the man.
Dale realised that unless he was very clever Bentick would prevent him taking action against the foreign visitor he hated so much. And he knew in his heart that he must take action. Nargan would have to die before the day was out, and that, if possible, before he could do more harm to the interests of Bri
tain.
Dale was certain that Nargan was a menace to the country. He had no faith in the people in power, or at any rate not in this thing they were doing by meeting Nargan for exchange of information. To let the man get away with anything was quite unthinkable. Dale saw that as clearly as a beacon light in his brain, but as yet he could not link up what he felt with a means of achieving his ends. No doubt, he thought, that would come in time, but the trouble was that time was short. And there was always Bentick to contend with as well.
Bentick, decided the scientist, was a young man who was clever enough to pull some trick to wreck his plans. He could not afford that happening. But at the same time he could take no action against Bentick to stop him in any way. If Nargan died then it must appear something that had no connection with Dale himself. Even Dale realised that if he killed the man outright with his own hand then his working days as a scientist would be numbered. And the passion for discovery inside him ruled out such an awful possibility.
With a weary sigh he turned off the lights in the laboratory and mounted the steps to the kitchen. He had not slept for a considerable time, yet even now he could not afford to sleep. What with the success of the Telecopter and the shadow of Nargan’s doom hovering at the back of his mind he was restless and could find no peace in anything.
Getting himself something to eat in a picnic fashion in the big kitchen, he stood there with a frown on his face and worried thoughts in his brain. He went along to the dark library and sank into a chair near the window, still eating a sandwich without tasting what he ate. He had switched on a reading lamp at his elbow and poured himself a drink from the cut glass decanter. For the first time in hours he began to feel relaxation flooding through him. But he did not sleep. He could not sleep. He thought of Bentick and Nargan and Carol, somewhere upstairs in their rooms. He wondered what thoughts were going through their minds in the darkness that came before dawn. A queer sense of foreboding filled him. The Telecopter had told of violence in the future, but what that violence would be, or how it would come about, he had no idea. That had been hidden, and until he perfected the machine so that its range of vision was widened he could not know more.
